


[1.5]Turning Point

by CherryFlight



Series: SWTOR: The Reflections Legacy [18]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking to Cope, Gen, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryFlight/pseuds/CherryFlight
Summary: Abric was not dealing with life in a healthy way.  But until that day, he was just okay enough to excuse it, maybe.  Now, there's no doubt left in his mind.
Relationships: Male Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine/Male Smuggler
Series: SWTOR: The Reflections Legacy [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643305
Kudos: 1





	[1.5]Turning Point

Abric took another long, burning drink of whatever it was that had been in the bottle he’d grabbed from the bar, some kind of whiskey he didn’t care to place the taste of. Whatever it was, it would numb him, maybe make this stop. Closing his eyes brought visions from hours ago, when the suns were still high in the sky, of his ex-husband’s face at the other end of his blaster. Nothing but defeat written on Atir’s face, and guilt like the pain he’d tried to stuff behind anger.

He was still wearing that mask he said he wouldn’t, that mask that said he couldn’t get all emotional or sentimental, the mask that had pushed him away from his friend who, bless him, still _tried_ to be his friend. Even after he had to save him from himself, and Atir from death. He still wasn’t even sure whether or not he would have done it. Had this mask made him into the soul-sucking, hate-filled sort of degenerate that blighted this galaxy? Had he become exactly the kind of person he was drawn to people like Atir, like Flow, for _not_ being? Or had he just been a wretch in disguise all along, grasping at the lights of the galaxy in hopes of claiming some light for himself?

Another long drink. He looked over the railing. In the homestead courtyard below he could see Atir at the stove down there. He’d always de-stressed through cooking, but even now, old habits told Abric the stress of being willing to accept his own death definitely could _not_ be handled that way. He had to fight the urge to go down there and tell him to sit down, to give him a hug and a massage and let him work through his feelings directly instead of trying to sublimate something too big for just a pot of stew. Those times were gone now.

He could see movement in the booth facing the stove, too. Flow, and Oberon, Atir’s Sith friend. One of them was flying a model starship around, its harmless blaster bolts, just light, flickering in the dusty air.

Another drink. The bottle was empty.

The bar was down there with them.

“Forget it,” he muttered to himself, tossing the bottle aside. It bounced off the door to the elevator and shattered noisily on the balcony floor, like the lights he’d shot out when Flow had pushed his blaster away.

“‘least the light I shot was the replaceable kind,” he said to no one as he curled up for a drunken nap in the sunset. “Thanks, little buddy. Gotta pay him back… How do you pay back someone who’s better than you?”


End file.
